


like the sun

by kathleenfergie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 20th Century, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Curses, F/M, Soulmates, Soulmates - Freeform, cursed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathleenfergie/pseuds/kathleenfergie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What gave me away this time?” he asked.</p><p>“Well, you’re always English and your eyes never change. It gets easier every century,” she explained.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>cursed soulmates au oneshot</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	like the sun

**Author's Note:**

> so this is a weird thing i've had in my drive for like a year, coming back to it and changing it around a bunch. idk i like it but i don't have any energy to make it a big thing, so it's kind of a weird unfinished ending. i love my babies and i write about them too much/come up with a new idea literally every day. 
> 
> but yeah. weird cursed soulmates that find each other each new life. this is supposed to be set like early twentieth century but i didn't try too hard to make the period relevant. enjoy. 
> 
> don't own shit.

The town was quite small and far too quaint for Killian’s taste, but it was easy to navigate without too much interaction with the nosy inhabitants. He’d left a couple coins with Widow Lucas’ granddaughter, the girl’s rouged lips pulled into a devilish smile at Killian’s light interrogation. She was kind, but the general store and inn was no doubt a hub of information. Killian knew best to come and go as quickly as he could from Storybrooke, Maine.

It didn’t help that he was looking for one Miss Emma Swan, a rumoured witch and murderess. He’d read several articles on the stir she’d caused in Boston and it was clear that if she _was_ a witch, she hadn’t meant to kill the young girl under her care. All that aside, she barely escaped hanging and fled to the harbour town to lay low. Most witches these days kept themselves hidden, or used their gifts carefully.

Looking at the apothecary clinic, stuck between a dental practice and flower shop, Killian felt no immediate sense of dread. The exterior was slightly unkempt and the paint needed a touch up, but he doubted the woman he sought would appreciate such commentary.

Killian tucked his hat under his arm and entered, a bell tinkling above his head.

It wasn’t unlike other places he’d been; his occupation had led him to such establishments before and would no doubt continue to do so. While he had a basic knowledge of herbology and potions, Killian didn’t trust himself with anything too advanced.

While there was a familiarity in the air, the shop had a certain feeling to it, with dusty counters and dark corners. Afternoon sun pooled in through lace curtains and everything smelled strongly of soil, various jars adorning the displays. They all held some sort of plant or hard to come by ingredient and Killian mused that it was almost like a small forest had grown itself inside Emma Swan’s shop.

The comfortable quiet was accompanied by a broom dancing along the wooden boards, the shop boy looking up at Killian as he stood staring in the entranceway. He straightened and paused in his task, clearing his throat slightly.

“Welcome, sir,” he greeted Killian warmly. He couldn’t have been older than ten, his head barely passing the broom’s handle. “What can I help you with?”

“Is your mistress in?” Killian asked, stepping further into the establishment. The boy perked at his accent and nodded. “Good lad. I’m in need of _elixir de la muerte_.”

He watched the boy’s hands tighten around the broom, his small brow furrowing at the name of the potion.

“I don’t think Miss Emma can help you with that,” the boy responded, uncertain.

Killian exhaled slowly and turned to go, but the sound of footsteps stopped him. He looked back up to see a figure come through the back door, arms crossed over her chest. She was tall and quite thin, but she had a fierce aura. Her blonde hair was pulled up into the popular style, but it was disheveled, with tendrils hanging around her neck and forehead.

“Thank you, Henry,” she dismissed the boy, eyes trained on Killian. After a moment, she looked down at the boy and her face softened. “Give Miss Emma a kiss and run home to your mama. Her order will be ready by Friday.” She brought a hand up to pinch his cheek, grinning. “Remember to wash your boots before going inside. We don’t want to ruin Madam Mayor’s floors, do we?”

Henry shook his head, giggling. He kissed her cheek before skipping out the shop, dropping the broom. Emma caught it before it could clatter to the floor and placed it behind the register. The bell chimed once more as the door swung shut and silence fell.

Tucking some hair behind her ears, Emma studied her customer. The stoic hardness returned to her eyes and Killian found himself missing the bright woman who’d been in front of him mere seconds before.

Emma Swan was beyond lovely, with high cheeks and thin lips. Here eyes were lined lightly with kohl and her lashes darkened, and while her pale skin was almost transparent, it shone nearly as much as her hair. She was golden, beautiful. Like looking at the sun. Her eyes transfixed Killian, green orbs suffocating.

He’d known many a gorgeous woman, but Killian could tell Emma Swan was a delicate lass in features only.

“What’s this I hear about _elixir de la muerte_?” she questioned, brow cocked. “It’s not a casual nor inexpensive request.”

“I’m acquiring it for a benefactor, Miss,” he replied, tipping his head toward her.

“And what will this benefactor do with such a potion?” Emma hummed, tracing patterns in the worn wood of her register counter.

“No doubt drop it into someone’s tea. I didn’t think to ask.” Killian stepped closer, smirking. “I’m just the delivery boy, love.”

“Among other things?” she quipped, bending to pull a small book from under the register, missing Killian’s surprised expression at her boldness. She placed the tome down and flipped through until she landed on the correct page. “It’ll take well over an hour,” she said pointedly, eyeing the door.

“I’d actually prefer to watch.” Killian wouldn’t be made the fool and have someone sell him another bottle of ink. He also couldn’t deny that the witch intrigued him and it wasn’t often that he got to see one’s process. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

He watched her sigh and feared he caused offence, but she moved to gather the right ingredients, motioning for him to follow her into the work room.

A wood stove stood against one wall, a pot already heated overtop it. Killian settled onto one of several sofas and watched her work, pouring one ingredient after another into the boiling water. She had to pause every now and then to stir and check her progress, but the process was quiet and unhalting.

Eventually, she turned the heat down, moving to sanitize vials for the elixir. Killian remarked internally that it was as if she were making a deathly jam.

He refrained from speaking such comments, knowing his manners well enough.

Emma poured the dark liquid into the separate vials and corked them, placing them to the side to cool.

“Can I offer you anything?”

“Killian Jones,” he prompted her, smiling. “Rum would be lovely, if you have it.”

Emma chuckled, drifting to a small cabinet holding a few liquor bottles. “Always the rum,” she muttered to herself and Killian found himself laughing aloud. The energy in the air changed abruptly and he smiled brightly.

“What gave me away this time?” he asked, reaching out for his drink.

“Well, you’re always English and your eyes never change. It gets easier every century,” she explained, perching on the arm of the sofa opposite Killian. “Next time ask for whiskey or something less obvious.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Miss Emma,” he said, teasing the witch lightly as he took a swig of the alcohol.

“Oh, darling,” she sighed, coming toward him. “Never.”

* * *

 Laying against his chest, Emma traced the swirls of his dark hair, smiling into his skin every time she felt him shudder. He was always ticklish and she would never miss an opportunity to exploit that.

“So,” she began, propping herself up on one elbow. Killian watched her hair cascade over her shoulder and was transfixed momentarily. “What horrible occupation have you found yourself in this time, Killian Jones?”

“It switches between contract killer and delivery boy. Mainly for one returning client that pays _very_ well.” He brought his right hand up to play with her blond locks, one of his favourite parts about this version of her, his stump supporting her middle. “It’s either stalking someone and murdering them in an alley outside a pub or tracking down a witch who’ll agree to make me a deadly potion.”

Emma smiled again, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. He wasn’t as clean shaven as most men and the kiss had an edge of roughness that she found likeable. It reminded her of the 1700s, when he’d been a scoundrel pirate who’d held a noble’s daughter ransom. All very cliche, truthfully, but that was the way curses usually worked.

“Do you think we’ll stop finding each other one day?” She whispered against his lips. “Break the curse?”

“Is that what you want?” He asked seriously, hand cupping her cheek.

“I _want_ more than one night with you.”

“Technically, it’s been twelve nights,” he informed her, rubbing a thumb across her smooth skin. She rolled her eyes and he smiled up at her golden form. He understood what she was feeling and couldn’t help but let sadness well in his chest at the thought of having to leave her again and again.

They stared silently at each other for a few moments before Emma settled against his shoulder, sighing.

“I had a girl last time,” she said, fingers intertwining with his. “The first one out of them all; Andrea. She was saucy, like you, but sweet.”

“What did she look like?”

“Like me,” Emma murmured, pressing a kiss against his skin.

“Like the sun?” Killian mocked affectionately.

“Even brighter.”

_fin_


End file.
